


there'd be days like this (mama said)

by talkwordytome



Series: soft lesbean ratched sickfics [2]
Category: Ratched (TV)
Genre: Caretaker Gwendolyn, F/F, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Mildred Ratched Needs a Hug, Sick Mildred, Sickfic, soft, soft lesbians
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-05
Updated: 2020-11-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:54:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27394564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/talkwordytome/pseuds/talkwordytome
Summary: Except…that it wasn’t even, not quite; it was faintly wheezy, as though Mildred’s breath was being filtered through a sponge lodged deep in her chest. Gwendolyn’s brow furrowed. It wasn’t a healthy sound in the slightest. Gwendolyn moved until she was next to the bed. She gazed down at Mildred’s face. Her mouth was open, and her sinuses seemed to be completely blocked. It was difficult to tell in the dim bedroom light, but Gwendolyn thought she looked pale, and her nose was pink. “Poor thing,” Gwendolyn sighed, tracing a finger down Mildred’s cheek. “You’re sick.”
Relationships: Gwendolyn Briggs/Mildred Ratched
Series: soft lesbean ratched sickfics [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2024666
Comments: 33
Kudos: 131





	there'd be days like this (mama said)

**Author's Note:**

> okay. look. this is shameless sickfic fluff of the highest order and I literally don't care, democracy as we know it is hanging by a very fragile thread and I am TIRED y'all
> 
> I hope people enjoy this but even if nobody does it's keeping me from losing my tenuous grip on my sanity, so!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
> 
> How are we???? Hanging in??? If you're reading this you're alive, which is, y'know, something!!!!!!

“I’m home!”

Gwendolyn walked through the front door, kicking off her heels the moment her feet crossed the threshold. She dropped her bag on the wood floor, where it landed with a satisfying _thud_. Though her day at the mayor’s office had been productive, it had also been long and exhausting enough that she thought she might fall asleep where she stood. Even still, she smiled softly to herself. A tender spot behind her ribcage blossomed and warmed. She was home.

 _Home_.

Gwendolyn got a strange but pleasant little squirm in her stomach every time she remembered that this house, and Mildred, and the wobbly but wonderful life they’d built together was so precisely that: a life. A life made of books and songs and poetry scrawled on scraps of paper. Made of toothbrushes and nightgowns and underwear, all shared, until they forgot where one of them began and the other ended. Heady cups of black coffee sipped in the pale light of morning and giggles rising like steam when they showered. 

But this evening something was different. Gwendolyn couldn’t quite put a name to what it was, but it was there nevertheless: a thick mist that hung in the air. Her heart thrummed like a bird beating its wings against the bars of a cage. She knew that things were okay now, peaceful even; she knew that they were safe, and she was being ridiculous, really, because she had no reason to suspect anything was wrong, just because it was quiet--

 _Oh. It was_ quiet.

It was Mildred’s day off, and yet there were no noises of Mildred bustling around the kitchen, humming Billie Holiday as she made dinner; no radio murmuring the evening news. The silence muffled the house like an old wool blanket, and Gwendolyn began to uneasily wonder if it had been this still all day. Dust motes danced in the air in front of her. The living room, the dining room, the parlor--all dark. Gwendolyn frowned. _Where are you, Mildred? What have you been up to?_

Gwendolyn padded up the stairs and down the hall to their bedroom. Buttery light seeped out from under the door. Gwendolyn felt the tension in her shoulders begin to ease. So Mildred had, at some point, been up and about. Gwendolyn hesitated with her hand on the doorknob, unsure of what she might find when she turned it. Mildred had been steadier lately, her moods more predictable, but she was still vulnerable to difficult bouts of melancholy. Guilt pricked at the back of Gwendolyn’s neck at the thought of Mildred spending one of those awful, interminable days totally alone. No one to hold her hand when she shook from nightmares or flashbacks; no one to wipe the tears from her cheeks when she cried. 

She opened the door. Their bedside lamps were on, but Mildred was in bed, curled in a ball beneath the covers. Gwendolyn could just make out the penny brightness of Mildred’s red hair fanned against the white of her pillowcase. This was odd but not entirely unprecedented. Mildred was, at best, an erratic sleeper. She had been known to take long naps during a day following an especially rough night. The blankets rose and fell with Mildred’s breath, evened out by sleep. 

Except…that it wasn’t even, not quite; it was faintly wheezy, as though Mildred’s breath was being filtered through a sponge lodged deep in her chest. Gwendolyn’s brow furrowed. It wasn’t a healthy sound in the slightest. Gwendolyn moved until she was next to the bed. She gazed down at Mildred’s face. Her mouth was open, and her sinuses seemed to be completely blocked. It was difficult to tell in the dim bedroom light, but Gwendolyn thought she looked pale, and her nose was pink. “Poor thing,” Gwendolyn sighed, tracing a finger down Mildred’s cheek. “You’re sick.”

Mildred stirred at the faint touch, which meant she must not have been sleeping very deeply. Her eyes--puffy from drowsiness and, Gwendolyn supposed, illness--blinked slowly open. Gwendolyn sat down on the edge of the bed. “Hello, angel,” she murmured, pushing Mildred’s hair back from her forehead. “Are you not feeling very well?”

Mildred sniffled and groaned, then pulled the blankets tighter around her narrow shoulders. “What time is it?” she asked, voice raspy and thick. 

Gwendolyn glanced at the alarm clock. “Just after seven,” she answered. Mildred sat up in bed so quickly it was like some taut spring within her had been set then released. 

“ _Seven?_ ” she exclaimed. “I should have started dinner ages ago; oh, Gwendolyn, I’m so sorry, I--” but she cut herself off with a loud sneeze, and then fell to coughing deeply into her elbow.

Gwendolyn rubbed Mildred’s back until the coughing fit passed. “Please don’t worry about that, darling,” she said as Mildred regained her breath. “I can heat up the leftover pot roast, or I could fix you some soup. How’d you like that, hmmm? Maybe some nice chicken noodle for that nasty cold you’ve got?”

Mildred blinked at her, and if she didn’t look so miserable it would’ve been adorable, with her brown eyes wide and that little crease she always got between her eyebrows whenever she was confused. She chewed her bottom lip as she considered Gwendolyn’s proposition. “But--but,” she stammered, “you…you were at work all day. I should--you shouldn’t be cooking. _I’m_ the one who’s meant to be doing that, not you.” 

“You’re sick,” Gwendolyn said gently. She cupped Mildred’s cheek in her hand. “And feverish too, I think.”

Mildred shook her head. “I’m fine,” she said. She tried to stand, but her legs trembled beneath her and she had to grab Gwendolyn’s shoulder for support.

“Hey, hey,” Gwendolyn said, easing Mildred back onto the mattress. “You,” she said, tucking the blankets in around Mildred’s feet, “are not going anywhere.”

“It’s nothing but a stupid cold,” Mildred insisted weakly. “Hardly even a cold. A sniffle, really.”

Gwendolyn tsked and palmed Mildred’s face again. “We’ll see about that,” she said, then went to the bathroom to retrieve the thermometer from the medicine cabinet.

“Open up for me, sweet girl,” Gwendolyn hummed as she shook the mercury down towards the bulb. 

The sharp anxiety of Mildred’s features smoothed slightly at the warmth in Gwendolyn’s voice. She parted her lips and accepted the thermometer. She closed her eyes and lolled her head back against her pillows. Now that she had to keep her mouth closed, each breath was accompanied by a thick sniffle. The minutes slowly ticked by. Mildred listened to the familiar sounds of Gwendolyn moving through the room and drifted off. 

Gwendolyn glanced at the clock and joined Mildred on the bed again. Mildred startled awake. Gwendolyn took the thermometer from Mildred’s mouth. She squinted at the small numbers, frowning. “101,” she said. “I don’t think this is just a cold, darling. That’s quite a fever. You must feel awful.”

Mildred shrugged. Her eyes were already falling shut again as she curled herself closer towards the warmth of Gwendolyn’s body. “My ears hurt,” she murmured, “and everything sounds funny, like I’m underwater.”

Gwendolyn pouted. “You may have an ear infection,” she said. “Poor baby, how’d you get so sick, hmm?”

Mildred’s only reply was a weak sneeze. “You’re such a dear and brave girl,” Gwendolyn whispered, running her hands through Mildred’s hair. “You don’t always have to be _so_ brave, you know.”

Gwendolyn pressed a gentle kiss to the soft skin of Mildred’s cheek. “I’m going to bring you soup and a spot of tea,” she said, “and then I want you to get some more sleep. Sometimes when a person gets sick it’s their body’s way of telling them that they’re trying to do too much. Sound familiar?” There was a mischievous glint in Gwendolyn’s eyes.

“Not in the slightest,” Mildred said, the corners of her mouth twitching.

Mildred was half-asleep as she ate her dinner propped up against her pillows, and completely out before Gwendolyn had even brushed her teeth. Mildred’s soft, congested breathing was a lullaby to Gwendolyn. She hated that Mildred felt poorly, but there was still something undeniably soft and sweet about it, too. Gwendolyn knew very well that there weren’t many people Mildred permitted to see that side of her. To Gwendolyn, it was a special, lucky secret; a privilege that was hers and hers alone.

Gwendolyn slid under the covers and folded her body around Mildred like a protective shell. She pressed her nose to Mildred’s scalp and inhaled deeply. She smelled like clean sheets and shampoo; perfume and sleep. Gwendolyn smiled. She smelled like home.

Some hours later, Gwendolyn jerked awake, the hazy tangle of leftover dreams shimmering just beyond her reach like a pall. At first she wasn’t entirely sure what woke her, but then she realized Mildred was tossing feverishly in bed next to her. There were red splotches of color high in her cheeks, and her bangs were limp and sweaty, plastered to her forehead. Each breath rattled in her congested chest. In her sleep, Mildred fretted and murmured. Pity, sharp as any knife, cut through Gwendolyn’s abdomen. 

She slipped out of bed and padded down the stairs to gather supplies from the kitchen and medicine cabinet. She mentally ticked off each item as it was procured: _ice pack, cough syrup, Alka-Seltzer, water, more tissues, VapoRub_. When she crept back into the bedroom, the knife went through her again when she saw that Mildred awoke while she was downstairs. She was up on her elbows, shivering, her eyes glassy and confused.

When Mildred managed to focus on Gwendolyn, her mouth twisted. “Gwen,” she whimpered, and then promptly burst into sobs so desperate that they sent her into a gasping coughing fit. Gwendolyn, alarmed, quickly commenced rubbing soothing circles on Mildred’s shoulder blades.

“Precious,” Gwendolyn said, “please, _please_ try to take a breath. I’m worried you’re going to hurt yourself.”

Mildred’s sobs eventually slowed, though the rattling rasp deep within her lungs does not abate in the slightest. “Gwendolyn,” she gasped, one hand on her breastbone and the clinging tightly to Gwen’s arm, “I can’t _breathe_ \--I can’t--I don’t--I--I--” but Gwendolyn cut her off with a firm, grounding hug. 

“Mildred,” Gwendolyn murmured, “darling, you had a nightmare, and now you’re having a panic attack. I need you to calm down. Can you breathe in for four seconds for me? There we go, that’s a good girl. Now hold it for seven more; perfect, you’ve got it! Finally, exhale for eight. Doesn’t that feel better?”

She led Mildred through this breathing exercise a few more times, until Mildred had the presence of mind to mumble, “I’m not a child, Gwendolyn,” and though her voice shook it was closer to her usual tone.

“No, but everyone needs care every now and again,” Gwendolyn said absently, feeling Mildred’s forehead with the back of her hand. “Oh, Mildred, we need to take your temperature.”

Mildred shook her head. “No,” she said weakly, “no, please don’t. I know it must be awful. I don’t want to know _how_ awful.”

Gwendolyn pursed her lips and thought for a moment before settling on a compromise. “Can I at least run you a lukewarm bath?” she asked. “And see if that helps?”

Mildred shook her head again and stood on wobbly legs. “I can do it myself,” she said. “You go back to sleep.”

A protest— _I will do no such thing_ —was on the tip of Gwendolyn’s tongue, as she recalled Mildred’s earlier unsteadiness, when Mildred stumbled and fell about a foot from the bathroom door. She was very still for a moment, until she said in an uncertain, ashamed sort of way: “Gwendolyn, I...I’m feeling a bit...a bit faint. Could you, perhaps…?”

Gwendolyn didn’t make her finish the question; she knew Mildred must be mortified enough as it was. Gwendolyn carefully scooped Mildred into her arms and positioned her so Mildred’s head was against her breastbone. Once they were in the bathroom Gwendolyn sat Mildred on the closed lid of the toilet.

“I’m sorry,” Mildred said, looking anywhere but at Gwendolyn.

“It’s not your fault,”Gwendolyn said firmly, checking the temperature of the water as it ran from the tap. “You can’t help being sick, my love.”

“No?” Mildred breathed, her expression inscrutable. “Then whose fault is it?”

Gwendolyn knelt in front of Mildred. She clasped both of Mildred’s hands in one of her own. “Look at me,” she commanded quietly, and waited until Mildred was doing precisely that before she continued. “When you are hurt, when you are sick, when you are vulnerable—those are not weaknesses. They aren’t reasons to be ashamed. And they most _especially_ are not your fault. You deserve such love and tenderness, my sweetest one, and I’m so sorry people in your life have made you believe the opposite.”

She kissed Mildred on her forehead. She added dried lavender, oatmeal, and eucalyptus oil to the bath water. She helped Mildred undress and step into the tub, and Mildred leaned most of her weight on Gwendolyn, as though even those small acts used up what little strength she had left. 

The steam swirled around them like a fog. Gwendolyn’s hair grew damp and curled slightly in the cloying heat. She rubbed a salve she’d gotten at the farmer’s market, made of rosehip and beeswax and vitamin e oil, onto the tightly knotted muscles of Mildred’s shoulders and back. She washed Mildred’s long hair, taking care to work through all the tangles, to tenderly massage the shampoo into Mildred’s scalp. She sang the old lullabies that her own mother once sang; she told Mildred stories from her childhood, like her words might be enough to transport the two of them back years and decades, back to when they were both small but did not know it. Back to before the world had gotten its cruel hooks into Mildred Ratched. 

The water grew cold, and Mildred began to shiver. “Poor chilled sweetheart,” Gwendolyn said. “Let’s get you warmed up.”

Gwendolyn half-lifted Mildred out of the tub. She wrapped Mildred in one of their warmest, fluffiest towels, then dressed her in a nightgown; one of Gwendolyn’s own, high-necked and made of soft flannel, because she knew it would bring Mildred comfort. She led Mildred to the edge of the bed and slipped wool socks over her feet. She turned down the covers and guided Mildred to lie beneath them. 

Mildred blinked up at her, heavy and slow. “Gwen?” she said blearily.

“Yes, sweetness?”

“I don’t feel very well,” Mildred croaked.

“Goodness, really?” Gwendolyn teased, getting in bed next to Mildred and brushing a lock of wet hair from Mildred’s eyes. “You certainly had me fooled.”

Mildred opened her mouth, perhaps to reply, but ended up sneezing three times instead. Each one was heavy and left Mildred breathless, and to her ever-growing list of concerns Gwendolyn added _sinus infection_. She frowned. “Those sounded like they hurt,” she said, passing Mildred a handful of tissues.

Mildred made a soft, sad noise of agreement, then dropped over so Gwendolyn’s shoulder was supporting most of her weight. 

“How can I help, sweetheart?” Gwendolyn asked. She was an affectionate personality under normal circumstances, and something about her ordinarily unflappable love’s fever flushed face and stuffy voice hit a nerve that left her desperate to do anything she could to make Mildred feel better. 

Mildred cuddled deeper into the inviting warmth of Gwendolyn’s body. “This is plenty,” she sighed, then paused, suddenly shy. “I know I’m not...at my most, ah, becoming right now—”

“Oh, stop that this instant,” Gwendolyn admonished gently. “You’re as beautiful as ever, dripping nose and all.”

“I highly doubt it,” Mildred said, wryly funny even in her misery. She opened a single eye. “But thank you anyway.”

Mildred fell silent, her breath evening back out. She was silent for so long that Gwendolyn thought she’d fallen back asleep, and, in fact, nearly drifted to sleep herself. She was floating in that strange, pleasant space between dreams and wakefulness when Mildred, in a voice so soft it was hardly even a whisper, said, “Gwen?”

“Yes, sweet?”

“I love you. Quite a bit, actually.”

Gwendolyn’s smile was a stamp, pressed flowers, against Mildred’s hot temple. “Oh, my dearest one,” she said, her words like sweet, warm honey, “I love you too.”

**Author's Note:**

> I did not mention the cancer arc because I just could not deal with the layers of complications it would add, and my fiancée’s dad died extremely unexpectedly from complications caused by his leukemia treatment last January so cancer is just not really a thing I can handle writing about at the moment!!!!!!!!!!!! sorry if that bothers anyone but I’m going to assume people will understand and if not oh well 🤠🤠🤠


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